Nostalgia in my lungs, I'm burning
by FancifulRivers
Summary: Harry won't leave Draco alone. He's kind of relieved about that.


**Author's Note: I do not and never will own HP. This was written for a prompt on AO3 involving Harry being bi.**

There are ghosts in the courtyard.

He can't see them- they aren't the traditional sort, weeping and moaning and shaking ephemeral chains, but he knows they're there all the same. Here, Potter sprang out of death into life. There, Fiendfyre scorched the pavement stones, howling for a victim. _There_...

But he doesn't want to think about it anymore and he hurries on, footsteps hollow in the corridor between classes. Someone shoots a Tripping Jinx at him and he falls, clumsy, to muffled snickers. The back of his neck burns, but he doesn't say anything, just gathers up his books and stuffs them back into his bag. It doesn't matter. He tells himself that over and over, recites it like a mantra as he scrambles to his feet. He is nearly late for Charms. It's amazing they let him back in the school. The Dark Mark is gone, but its taint remains. His father is in prison. His mother is on house arrest. He might as well be.

"You all right, Malfoy?" Potter's voice, like a balm, and Draco wants to sneer, but doesn't have the energy. Instead, he just nods, silent, as Potter holds out a hand and helps him the rest of the way.

"Harry, why-" Ginny Weasley's voice, but she falls silent as Potter falls into step with him.

"You'll be late, Ginny, you better go," Potter says kindly, but she seems to recognise it as the dismissal it is as she flounces away, red hair trailing behind her like a banner.

"Why don't you stand up for yourself?" Potter asks. His hair is untidy, a quill is stuck behind one ear. Ink has smudged across his jaw and Draco's fingers itch to wipe it away. He balls his fists up inside his robe sleeves instead.

"You wouldn't understand, Potter," he says tiredly. "Come on."

He doesn't realise until Potter is hurrying after him that he issued any sort of command.

* * *

A Stinging Hex this time, quick and sharp across his cheek. He hisses in pain, fingers coming up to gingerly prod the affected flesh. It feels raw and new, skin puckered tight, and he slings his bag over one shoulder with a sigh, hoping Madam Pomfrey will write him a late note. Potter is giving him that _look_ again, but he elects to ignore it. Like there's any way Potter would understand. Potter is the Boy Who Lived. Potter is the one who destroyed the Dark Lord. Draco is- Not that.

"I'm coming with you," Potter says with determination, catching up with him. Draco glares at him, but he doesn't look affected at all.

"Why?" He bites out.

"So no one tries anything else," Potter says quietly, and Draco's shoulders slump.

"Oh," he says. Potter's eyes look very green in the dim light. Draco idly wonders how inappropriate it would be to compare them to the light of the Killing Curse.

Potter follows him all the way up, waiting outside the doors to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey clucks when she sees him, but heals him up quickly enough, writing him out a pass in quick, sure strokes of her quill.

"Thank you, ma'am," he says politely. She looks at him like she doesn't know what to say.

* * *

Draco likes spending time outside. There's a particular courtyard at the back that no one but him seems to have discovered. A small fountain of a mermaid spouts water in the middle, and neglected plants spiral up the sides.

He falters one foggy November morning because Potter is there, sitting on a bench and leaning against the fountain, eyes closed.

"You don't have to go away," Potter says without opening his eyes. His voice is very hoarse. "There's room for both of us."

He gingerly perches on the other end of the bench. All the calm that usually percolates through his system when he comes here has evaporated with the watery mid-morning sun.

"I broke up with Ginny," Potter says, after a few long moments of silence. "I love her, but I'm not- I'm not _in love_ with her- you know what I mean?"

"I'm not your confidante, Potter, why are you telling me this?" Draco says, but there's no venom in it. Not really.

"Because I think I like you," Potter leans forward, carefully not looking at Draco. Draco's heart beats very fast.

"Is that supposed to make me swoon or-"

"Of course not, Merlin, you're a prat," Potter- Harry- interrupts with a sigh. One hand attempts to flatten his hair.

"Are you- are you gay then?" Draco asks hesitantly.

"I think I like both," Harry admits.

"Bi then," Draco says, and Harry nods.

"Weasley didn't take it well," Draco suggests. Harry flushes out to the tips of his ears.

"Not particularly," he says. "Well- I think it was more the breaking up with her. Coming out didn't er, help though."

"I guess it wouldn't," Draco murmurs. "We have Potions in a few...?" He isn't aware of the regret in his voice until Harry turns to him, eyes bright.

"Let's skive off," he suggests. "Come on, I bet you're already done with everything through next week, you're worse than Hermione when it comes to Potions-"

"Please never compare me to Granger again," Draco says stiffly, but Harry ignores him.

"We could go get a snack from the kitchens or something and come back here if you want, it's nice out here-"

"All right!" Draco blurts out, stopping Harry mid-sentence. Potter blinks at him, and he's suddenly aware how red his face must be.

"All right," he repeats, softer now. "That would be... That would be acceptable."

"Don't move," Harry says, grinning. "I'll be right back." He hurries off.

Draco leans back against the fountain, eyes half-closed. He's surprised to realise he's smiling.


End file.
